


Gallows Humour

by Myracuulous



Series: A Matter of Genetics [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch, Gen, Kid Fic, Trans Character, content warning: transphobia mentions, meandering Reaper origin story by means of Moira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 06:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14443023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myracuulous/pseuds/Myracuulous
Summary: Serving in Blackwatch, a soldier and a scientist find they have more in common than either might have expected, and strike up a friendship over secrets and pain.





	Gallows Humour

**Author's Note:**

> This is in canon with my Moicy fic "Genetic History", taking place many years earlier. There are a few pretty key facts established there that will come up here, so if you're interested in that one I'd suggest reading it first.

The lab was windowless, like the rest of the facility, lit from the ceiling by two rows of cold, clinical lights. Pristine and solitary, like a blank canvas waiting for its artist. In her new labcoat, as crisply white as the lights overhead, Dr. Moira O'Deorain took her first steps into the room, enjoying the utter silence with a brief moment of reverence.

"It's smaller than your old one." Commander Reyes stayed a step back, hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy camo trousers. "Think you can get the job done here?"

"I've certainly worked in worse." Moira swept her eyes across the space, conducting a quick mental survey of its contents. Six tables, modern analytical equipment, a row of cages for experimental subjects, and no coworkers. "It will suffice."

"Well then, you know the rules: solve our problems, and we don't ask questions." Reyes was smirking, devilishly proud of his Blackwatch setup. Moira could get to like a man like him. "You can take the rest of the week to settle in here, then we'll start you on combat training. You're going to need something a bit more hands-on then that one day ‘self defense seminar’ Overwatch puts its lab geeks through."

"I am aware of what my field work obligations will entail, commander." Moira folded her hands behind her back, and considered her next words carefully. Well, it could hardly be put off forever, and Reyes was supposed to be good at keeping secrets. "Unfortunately, I'm not currently capable of participating in Blackwatch's full physical training regime. I will become available in twenty two to twenty six weeks."

Reyes had to look up to meet her stare as she turned back to face him. "And why exactly is that, doc?"

"I'm conducting an internal genetic experiment, which will require at least another five months to reach a state of external viability, and some few weeks' recovery time after completion.” She paced further into the lab, breaking eye contact with her new boss in favour of examining the furniture. “I suppose if it fails, I may be available earlier."

"What kind of experiment are we talking about?"

Moira hoped her pause would seem cold rather than nervous. "I'm pregnant."

"Oh." Reyes' easy smirk disappeared, replaced with a not-unexpected fluster. "I, well, I didn't think-- I mean, I read your medical history file."

"I am a very good geneticist, Commander Reyes."

"Right. Right, well I guess that's... happening."

"I trust you understand, commander, that I would prefer absolute discretion in this matter. I do not intend to make my daughter public knowledge, considering my reputation and new line of work."

"Sure, that... that makes sense." Reyes, like most of those few others she'd discussed her plans with, seemed to be struggling to put 'Moira' and 'mother' together in one thought without imploding. "So, who's the... father?"

"Biologically, I come closest to filling that role. The other parent is not your concern." Of course her romantic history was no great secret. Reyes was a professional spy in charge of a team of professional spies, he'd figure it out if he wanted to, but Moira held out hope that her particular mismatched glare would stifle that impulse immediately.

"I guess it isn't." Reyes shook his head, and seemed to give up trying to put concepts together in his brain. "I'll let the boys know you're gonna be busy for a few months, and find you something to do in the lab. Are you gonna want to take leave?"

"Two weeks surrounding the event should suffice. I have caregivers arranged."

"Guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Reyes' smirk was back, and he held out a hand to Moira. "Welcome to the team, doc."

Moira accepted the handshake, firm and professional. "Thank you, Commander Reyes. I look forward to working with you.”

 

***

 

“I must confess, Commander Reyes, your case is unusually challenging.” Moira sat in her favourite lab chair, attention split between three different floating screens. All of them showed the man behind her on the operating table, listing far more detail than a simple physical exam could ever hope to provide. 

“Just what you hope to hear at the doctor’s office.” Reyes was shirtless and ashen and covered in electrode patches, but still cracking jokes.

“Have you had any more attacks since our last appointment?”

Screen two showed a brief spike in the man’s heart rate. “Yeah, one last night. Nearly went down the drain of my bathtub. What a way to go, right?”

“At least it wouldn’t leave a mess.” Reyes laughed at the joke, delivered in Moira’s usual deadpan. “I will be honest, Reyes. Your case is going to stretch my abilities.”

“Good thing you’re the best, doc. What are we looking at?”

Moira considered getting out of her chair to pace, usually so helpful in summarizing her thoughts, but movement was getting harder and harder with each passing day. She stayed put, and spun through the windows of her leftmost screen instead. “As we suspected, the rather crude genetic modifications done by your former government are starting to break down, in much the same way you’ve describe happening to failed soldier enhancement candidates. Your attacks are going to get worse, until you eventually become unable to retain a coherent physical form.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun, now does it?” Reyes sounded just as unconcerned as always, but his vital signs suggested otherwise. “So, doc, what do we do about it?”

Moira stopped her scrolling, and brought up two files. “I have outlined two possible plans of treatment for you. First, I could attempt to scrub your DNA. With samples from your soldier enhancement files, I could restore it to a more… natural configuration. A few simple surgeries would remove your subdermal implants and the rest of your, shall we say, post-factory additions. You would be restored, more or less, to the body you were born with, likely with some minor remaining medical complications, but I estimate your chances of survival as being quite high.”

Reyes was quiet, digesting the implications. No more superhuman reflexes, no more heightened intuition. No more field work. “So, what’s plan B?”

Moira smiled. “I work with the damage, rather than against it. There have already been promising lab tests among the traditional geneticist community, using the mistakes of the soldier enhancement program. Unhindered by their moral chains, I believe Talon scientists have already gone further, though your agents have thus far been unable to steal those files for me. If successful, I could slow down or stop your degradation, and give you conscious control of your attacks so you can schedule them safely. If I’m particularly successful, they may even become an asset.”

“So… I could trigger an attack in the field? Melt through a grate, and be alright at the other end?” Reyes caught on fast. “Not gonna lie, doc. That is hella cool.”

“Most eloquently put, commander. It would be a fascinating challenge; untested and entirely experimental, on the fringe of the fringe of genetics. We could— ah!“ Moira stopped and winced, hand on her stomach, eyes wide with the sudden, sharp pain. 

Reyes was already trying to get up off the operating table, combat instincts warring with the web of medical wiring that monitored his vital signs. “What’s wrong?”

The pain subsided as quickly as it started. “Nothing, commander. My genetic experiment is beginning to exercise its developing muscular structure.”

Reyes lay back down again. “You know, you can just say ‘the baby’s kicking’ like a normal person.”

“I will make note of your permission, commander.” But Moira smiled, grateful that Reyes wasn’t going to pursue the subject. “Do you have a preference for which line of treatment I should pursue?”

“Plan B. I don’t want to stop being what they made me.”

“Grand.” The more interesting choice, and exactly what she’d expected out of Reyes. “We will begin chemically, trying to isolate the nature of the effect before we create a more permanent, genetic solution.” Now she actually had to get up, lifting her newly hefty frame from the chair with the careful use of both hands. The chemical synthesizer was only a desk away, but meters were beginning to feel more like miles. The device whirred to life and spat out her custom prescription cocktail in neat capsules, packaged with dosage instructions. “Two weeks with these. Document all attacks with time and duration, and note any additional side effects. Understood?”

Sensing that the appointment was at an end, Reyes started removing the electrodes from his chest and arms. “Will do, doc. And hey, thanks.”

“It’s what you pay me for, commander.”

“Guess it is. But I appreciate that it didn’t come with a lecture.”

Moira felt something stir; not her child this time, but a vague feeling of camaraderie. “Any time, commander.”

 

***

 

“Congratulations, doctor. It’s a girl.”

Sweating and spent, Moira felt as though the mere act of grunting her agreement might be enough to knock her unconscious. She was no stranger to pain in the name of progress, but this little experiment had been six months of constant suffering, followed by three hours of uncomparable agony. The next time someone told her to ‘push’, Moira felt she’d probably snap and drain the life out of them where they stood. 

And then the nurse handed her the results, and it was all worth it. 

Einin O’Deorain. Her little Einin. She was a red-faced, ugly little lump who was examining her new world with a look of bleary confusion and displeasure, as if something had just gone terribly wrong and someone had better fix it immediately. Her head was bald but for a lick of hair right down the centre, already bright red. Moira fell instantly in love. 

“Would you like a few moments alone?” The nurse asked, with her usual professional detachment. 

“If you would, thank you.” Without another word, the carefully-picked private nurse nodded and left, closing the bedroom door behind her. Alone again. No, not alone. Not anymore.

“My perfect creation,” Moira cooed, surprising herself with the voice she put out. “My sweet little daughter. Well, daughter by assumption, I suppose only time will tell if you agree with that hypothesis. And oh, you don’t look like you’ll agree with much.” The infant’s round little nose wrinkled, and she let out a few little experimental half-cries. Moira, on the advice of a small library of parenting books, rocked her gently. “Anything you want to be, my love, anything you want to accomplish, I will do everything in my power to help you reach your ambitions. I promise.”

“Doctor Byrne?” The nurse’s voice, from the hallway, used the alias Moira had given her. “There’s a package here for you, from a… DarkLook Laboratories?”

_ What could work want at a time like this? _ “You may bring it in.” Moira adjusted her grip on Einin, preparing to trade her off with the nurse. Her precious infant was exchanged for the brown box, marked only by the delivery address and that of the Blackwatch cover company that Reyes had insisted on naming. Moira dug a nail through the tape and peeled back the flaps. 

Nestled amid layers of protective tissue paper was a stuffed toy. It was a cartoonish humanoid entity made of fuzzy black fabric, with not-terribly-accurate white bones stitched on. The toy’s head was similarly adorned with a stylized skull, expression fixed in a goofy grin. Moira pulled it out, and opened the plain white card packed beneath it. 

_ ‘Any kid of yours is bound to be a little spooky. Good luck. -GR.’ _

Moira smiled, far wider than she’d ever let on at work. “Thank you,” she said to the nurse. “You may put this with the other equipment. I believe I should attempt to sleep.” 

The nurse nodded and took the toy, keeping both arms and one hand expertly wrapped around Einin. “We’ll be in the next room if you need us, doctor.”

Moira was asleep before the nurse finished closing the door. 

 

***

 

Blackwatch Central Command had a built-in bar. Unofficially of course, on paper it was the “recreation room”. In reality it was a wall of hard liquor and a rusting old Auto-Mix drone whose safe service protocol disc had been pried out with a screwdriver. “Recreation” involved an old-fashioned darts game that only McCree ever used and a billiards table missing half its balls. Far more popular was the row of mismatched bar stools for post-mission ‘debriefings’.

The latest mission had been a resounding success, three weeks of undercover work and a short firefight. Genji went right back to his private brooding room, of course, and the cowboy was a trash-talking lightweight who passed out after six drinks. No one in Blackwatch ruined a good time with details like medical protocol, so Gabriel and Moira had propped the man up in a corner and kept drinking. McCree was snoring faintly, face mostly covered by his ridiculous hat. 

“It’s just the way it happened, you understand.” Moira was on her I’ve-lost-count glass of whiskey, Irish lilt in full swing now that liquor had loosened it. “She always told me she respected my work, admired my ambition, my dedication to the field. But now I always have to wonder, was any of that true? Was I always just some project, some patient to be saved?”

“That’s some damn mind games bullshit right there.” Reyes was pacing himself about as well as Moira, but they both had genetics- natural or otherwise- on their side. “Fucking Overwatch saints.” 

“Tch, not anymore.” Moira laughed at her own joke. “You and Jack, though. There must have been something.”

“Must have? What, you give yourself some kind of psychic gaydar in that lab of yours, doc?”

“What a fascinating perspective experiment, commander.”

“Hah.” Gabe took another swig of his drink, swirling the rest of it around in the glass. “Jack’s straight, and for me it’s only ever been a handful of men. Mostly him. There was one night… we were both in the soldier enhancement program, just two dumb kids getting drunk and talking shit. It was a blur, sure as hell wasn’t wholesome... Jack and I never talk about it. He likes it that way.” Another swig of hard liquor. “You know my parents named me after an angel? Guess I fucked that one up.”

“The archangel Gabriel, patron saint of messengers.”

“Raised Catholic?”

Moira scowled. “Very.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Both of them finished their glasses, and the Auto-Mix came round to pour replacements without being asked. For a few moments, the bar’s only sounds were the hum of the drone and McCree’s snoring. 

“Got any of them left?” Gabe spoke first, breaking the near-silence. “The big Catholic family?”

“My father and sisters died in the war, and my mother still discusses me as her ‘son’, so no. It’s just Einin, now.” It had been too long for the thought of family to bring up any pain for Moira, leaving only a vague and lingering sort of disappointment. “And yours?”

“They’re still around, I guess. Send my ma a Christmas card some years, and I’ve got a brother I talk with now and then. None of them know what I do, think I work construction since I left Overwatch. The less we talk, the less I have to lie to them.” Gabe shook his head.  “Do you ever wonder if we’re doing the right thing here, doc?”

“I’m a scientist, Gabe. Right and wrong, they’re simply terms used to justify momentary actions. Truth, progress, advancement, those last beyond the here and now. When all memory of the people we hurt is dust on the wind, and all memory of us with it, science will endure.”

“Know what I want science to tell me?” Gabriel prodded Moira on the shoulder for emphasis. “How you keep usin’ big words like that when you’re as piss drunk as I am?”

“I was dry for fifteen months straight over Einin, I’ve been savin’ it up.” Moira prodded Gabriel back, and he was glad she’d trimmed her nails down for the mission. “And you, commander, are barely better than the cowboy at holding your liquor.”

Gabriel laughed again, nearly falling off his chair with the force of it. “You are a cruel, cruel woman, doc.”

 

***

 

Overwatch was burning. You could see it on every new channel, including the one playing on the old television at the back of the laboratory. The screen, with its repeat footage of the daylit fire, provided the brightest light in the room. Moira had still drawn down the blinds, there was no sense advertising that the lab was occupied to every passer-by. 

Gabriel Reyes came to on the operating table, his consciousness marked by a deliberate groan. It was something of a miracle that he could vocalize at all, given the state of his body. “Fuck,” he said, voice gravelly from smoke-filled lungs. “Where the hell am I?”

“The Hands-On Student Learning Institute for Girls in Science. I fund their laboratory program under an alias, and they don’t ask questions when I need to borrow their space on short notice.” Moira didn’t look up from her work, setting up skin grafts with equipment that had never been designed for the procedure. 

“Guess I’m not dead, then.”

“At least your propensity towards suicidal plans of attack keeps my surgical skills in good practice. Please stop trying to get up.” Moira didn’t have to look back to know what Gabriel would be in the middle of, and she was rewarded for her intuition with another pained grunt. He fell quiet again, leaving her to work in peace with only the sound of his raspy, laboured breathing and the low voice of the news reporter from the television. 

By the time he spoke again, Moira had assumed he’d fallen asleep. “So the world thinks I’m dead now. Won’t matter that they don’t find a body, the whole complex burned down.”

“And a few blocks of the city with it.”

“That’s really the end of it, then. The end of Overwatch.” The television flickered, going back to the start of the burning footage yet again. “Your kid okay? Somewhere safe?”

“Einin is touring primary schools in Numbani. Given recent events, I’ve asked her nanny to extend the trip by another week.” Moira sighed, and set the machine to auto-run. “She’s safe.”

“Well, that’s something.” Gabriel was quiet again for a few more laboured breaths. “Thanks, doc. For pulling me out.”

“Yes, well.” Moira turned around at last, crossing her arms behind her back. “You know I hate to leave an experiment unfinished. Your genetic structure is hardly stable.”

“Nothing about me is stable, not anymore.” Gabriel closed his eyes. “I liked it, you know. Shooting my way through Overwatch, sucking out their souls out through their eyeballs--”

“--you know that’s scientifically inaccurate--”

“--that’s how it feels! I’ve seen your look in the field, O’Deorain, you get the same rush.” Gabriel laughed, a disconcerting, raspy noise. “I’m going to keep killing people. As many of them as I can get my hands on.”

Moira was quiet for a moment, staring down the closest thing she had in the world to a friend. His face would never be the same again, not even with the world’s best reconstructive surgery, and not all of that could be blamed on the fire. His throat and jaw were so charred that it was hard to say where the burned flesh ended and his disintegrating body began. ‘Alive’ was almost an overstatement, given the state of his cellular decay. A walking corpse, still moving and thinking and killing thanks to a custom and ever-shifting cocktail of drugs and genetic treatments.

“I’ve had a job offer,” Moira said at last. 

“Who from?”

“Talon. Six months ago.”

“Talon?!” Gabriel found his rage again, the rage that had kept him going through the fall of Blackwatch. “Wait, six months?!”

“I turned them down. Selling out one employer’s secrets to another would have seriously hindered my future job prospects. But they told me it was an open offer, and now… well, private elementary schools aren’t cheap, Reyes. Nor are my experiments. Overwatch never showed me any loyalty, it seems it’s time to return the favour.”

“Didn’t think to report that little offer to your commanding officer?”

“Right, because you’ve been so upfront with your superiors.” Moira gestured grandly with her sarcasm. “Talon will give me the same deal you did: get results, and no questions asked. I can keep treating your condition, if that is what you wish.”

“All those missions, everything we did, everyone we killed… it was all just pointless, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Gabriel, but I’m going to keep going. Now, what are you going to do?”

Gabriel looked over at the television one last time. There were two faces there, old archived photos of the two soldiers who had made Overwatch what it was, now with ‘missing; presumed dead’ beneath their names. He closed his eyes.

“Where are you meeting them? When?”

“I send word through a dead drop, they send me a meeting place.” Moira folded her arms back up. “I’m not going to let you kill my next paycheck, Reyes.”

“No, not kill them. I want to meet them. Have a little chat.” Gabriel clenched and unclenched his fists, keeping his eyes closed. “You’re not the only one looking for a new job, doc. If I’m going to keep killing people, well...I’ll bet those sons of bitches could use a new Grim Reaper.”


End file.
